


Take A Sad Song And Make It Better

by TrekBec82



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 19:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20801447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekBec82/pseuds/TrekBec82
Summary: Five times people mistakenly thought Aziraphale and Crowley were a couple, and one time they actually were one.





	Take A Sad Song And Make It Better

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to jump on the 5+1 bandwagon for a bit of fun. 
> 
> I've quoted directly from the cold open of Episode 3: Hard Times for the first 4 moments, as I'm sure you'll all recognise - but number 5 is based on the end of the opening ceremony for the 2012 London Olympics - which I still have saved to an external hard drive. 
> 
> My heartfelt gratitude to [TheWingflappingButterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWingflappingButterfly/pseuds/TheWingflappingButterfly) for elevating the French from Google Translate's "near enough is good enough" to "this is how a Francophone of the era might have phrased it" - you're a treasure! 
> 
> If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr - where I share loads of Good Omens posts and a sprinkling of other things - you can do so at [TrekBec82](http://trekbec82.tumblr.com/).

**1\. Rome, 41AD.**

_“I thought I’d try Petronius’s new restaurant. I hear he does remarkable things to oysters.”_  
_“I’ve never eaten an oyster.”_  
_“Oh! Oh, well let me tempt you to-- oh, no, that’s your job, isn’t it?”_

Temptation accomplished, despite coming from the wrong quarter. They’d gone to Petronius’s restaurant after finishing the jug of quasi-drinkable “House Brown”, and Aziraphale had tried the oysters every way imaginable. Crowley had tried one, found it revolting, and refused to try another - but he wasn’t much for food even when it wasn’t slimy and sitting in a clam shell, so it wasn’t any great loss, as far as he was concerned.

Petronius himself came over to speak with them when Aziraphale had finished his final oyster, and the angel gushed about the different flavours, the accompaniments, the sauces, and even the place settings. Endless food talk usually bored Crowley to death, but he did enjoy watching Aziraphale enthuse about his favourite topics, and food seemed to be one of those. His whole face lit up as he talked, and he became very animated with his hands.

“You’re certain to have a WONDERFUL evening together, after so many oysters,” Petronius said with a wink.  
“Oh, uh, we’re not. That is to say. Uh...” Aziraphale stammered.  
“We’re just friends,” Crowley said, amused at Aziraphale’s embarrassment. He wouldn’t object to pursuing the acts Petronius was hinting at, but clearly the angel wasn’t so inclined. Hardly surprising, being an angel. A little disappointing though, if he was being honest with himself. He’d liked Aziraphale ever since he’d admitted to giving away his flaming sword.  
“My apologies. I thought you were...more.” Petronius excused himself, then returned to the kitchen to do God-only-knew-what to oysters for other patrons.

“You alright?” Crowley asked, seeing that Aziraphale was still a startling shade of crimson.  
“Oh. Yes. Quite alright. I simply didn’t expect. Well. I didn’t expect THAT.”  
“Did you know oysters are an aphrodisiac?”  
“I had heard that they could be, but I thought...I thought that my nature as an angel would negate that particular effect.”  
“And my nature as a demon would…?”  
“Be irrelevant?” Aziraphale ventured hesitantly.  
“Ah. So if you weren’t horny, the fact that I was wouldn’t matter?”  
“Oh, my dear no, that’s not what I meant.”  
“I’m just teasing you Angel, don’t fret.”  
“So you’re not then?”  
“Do you really want me to answer that?”  
“Probably not.” Aziraphale blushed again. He was quite pretty when he blushed, Crowley thought. Definitely someone he wouldn’t mind testing out some better tasting aphrodisiacs with, at some point in the future - if the angel ever wanted to.

~~~

**2\. London, 1601.**

_“It’s been like this every performance, Juliet. Complete dud. It’d take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet.”_  
_“Yes, alright, I’ll do that one, my treat.”_  
_“Oh, really?”_  
_“Still prefer the funny ones.”_

Edinburgh had been cold and wet - no surprises there. The horse had been ill-tempered and barely broken-in, unseating Aziraphale repeatedly both on his journey to Scotland and the equally miserable return trip. The blessings had thankfully gone off without a hitch, the minor miracle no drama at all - and much to his chagrin, the temptation of the clan leader had been remarkably simple as well. He was pleased to discover that Crowley had followed through on his promise, though. They’d returned to the Globe Theatre to see the play in its entirety, and had difficulty getting seats together in the packed crowd. 

“Excuse me, my dear - is this seat available?” Aziraphale asked a woman who’d placed an impressive array of snacks on the seat beside her.  
“No!”  
“Oh, come on Liz, move your food so the nice couple can sit together,” prodded her companion, who was plainly used to Liz’s behaviour.  
“Uh, we’re not. He’s not. I’m not.” Aziraphale couldn’t express exactly what they weren’t, it seemed - so it was up to Crowley to defend the angel’s honour once again.  
“He’s my friend, not my date,” he said to the companion, then turned to Liz and added “but if you don’t move your grapes they’ll become HIS snack, not yours.”  
“You can’t do that!” said Liz indignantly.  
“I assure you - I can, and I WILL,” Crowley growled.  
Liz moved her snacks into her lap, and her companion grabbed a small bunch of grapes, handing them to Aziraphale with a smile.  
“Oi!”  
“You shouldn’t have put them on the seat to start with Liz, let the poor guy have a few grapes.”  
“He’s not poor if those clothes are anything to go by.”  
“Not the point Liz,” said her companion as the curtains opened, and a hush fell over the crowd.

When the play ended they walked amiably to a local tavern, discussing how much it had improved since they’d seen it last, and what exactly Crowley had done to make it such a raging success. Aziraphale still hadn’t got over their being mistaken for a couple again, and said as much after drinking several pints. Crowley brushed it off, and told him not to worry about it, but once again the angel’s concern was for his safety. If Heaven thought they were a couple, Aziraphale would Fall - if Hell thought they were, they’d destroy Crowley. Aziraphale was adamant that THAT was something to be avoided at all costs. It was sweet, really, how much he cared. Almost as if...no, best not to even THINK that...

~~~

**3\. Paris, 1793.**

_“What’s for lunch?”_  
_“What would you say to some crêpes?”_

He’d said yes to the crêpes, obviously. Crowley rarely said no to anything Aziraphale offered if it meant he could spend more time with the angel. After coming all the way to Paris to rescue the lovable fool from the Bastille, it had been a very easy decision to go to lunch together. They’d walked to Aziraphale’s favourite restaurant, and been greeted by an eager young man with a broad smile.

“Bonjour camarades, comment puis-je servir un charmant couple en ce bel après-midi?”  
(“Hello gentlemen, how may I serve a lovely couple on this beautiful afternoon?”)  
Crowley wasn’t sure whether Aziraphale’s blank stare was due to his poor grasp of the French language, or the contents of the question, but he figured it was up to him to respond - again!  
“Pardonne-moi, camarade, mais parles-tu anglais?” (“Pardon me sir, do you speak English?”)  
“Oui camarade, I speak English, though not perfectly. How may I help you?”  
Aziraphale perked up at hearing English, and ordered his favourite dishes from the menu.  
“You simply MUST try…” seemed to be repeated with every new addition, and Crowley wondered how on Earth they were supposed to eat so much food with just two of them.

The simple answer was, Aziraphale ate a LOT. His appetite had grown since last they’d dined together, and Crowley thought it was a miracle he didn’t explode. It was also a miracle Heaven hadn’t booted him out for gluttony, but he didn’t want to mention that in case it upset the angel. When they’d finally finished the last morsel, Aziraphale sat back in his seat and asked “what exactly did the waiter say when we arrived? My French isn’t what it ought to be, but I thought he called us a couple?”  
“He did, Angel.”  
“Another one! Another person who thinks we’re a couple! Oh, this is bad, Crowley. What if Hell get wind of it? They’ll destroy you!”  
“Hell honestly don’t care that much, I promise you. Besides, I could just tell them it’s a temptation. Giving myself a challenge - see if I can get you to Fall.”  
“You’d really tell them that?” Aziraphale asked.  
“I’d tell them whatever I thought would save my hide, if it ever came up.”  
“Oh. You’re not though, are you? Trying to make me Fall?”  
“Of course not Angel. If you Fall, Hell’d put you to work somewhere - and then who would I have lunch with?”  
Aziraphale shook his head and smiled at the demon. He really was quite good company, when it came down to it. And terribly useful in a tight spot to boot.

~~~

**4\. London, 1941.**

_“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?”_

They’d arrived at the bookshop in one piece - despite both the ongoing Blitz and Crowley’s casual disregard for safe driving speeds - and for that Aziraphale was grateful. He’d never been in Crowley’s Bentley before, and wasn’t entirely convinced he ever wanted to again. He’d missed his friend over the course of the last 79 years though, so he’d invited the demon in for a chat and some wine - to which Crowley had immediately agreed. As they neared the threshold Crowley stumbled, and Aziraphale caught him - embracing to keep his lanky friend from falling.

“I should report you two to the police!” came a shout from the next door neighbour, who must have stuck their head out the window at the sound of the Bentley’s engine.  
“Excuse me?” Aziraphale asked, as he released Crowley, hoping he stayed upright.  
“Don’t think I don’t know! Pair of sodomites!”  
“ExCUSE me!” Aziraphale roared as he started to head next door. Crowley grabbed his arm and hauled him back.  
“Don’t you think the police have enough to deal with right now?” he asked the neighbour, then turned and whispered, “come on Angel, let’s go inside before things get nasty. I’ve already saved you once tonight - that’s enough, don’t you think?”

Once the door was closed behind them Crowley locked it, and turned to find Aziraphale standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving.  
“That fool wasn’t even IN Sodom, what the devil would he know?!” Aziraphale fumed.  
“You’re more worried about his lack of knowledge when it comes to ancient history than you are about him thinking we’re a couple, in a time and place where that’s illegal?” Crowley asked.  
“Well no, obviously that’s a concern also, but we could deal with the police if we had to. It’s Heaven and Hell we really have to worry about. What if someone heard him?”  
“You’re still worried about that, Angel?”  
“Of course I’m still worried about that! They’d destroy you!”  
“Like I told you in Paris, I can deal with Hell if they get wind of us spending time together, don’t worry about it.”  
“I DO worry though Crowley. You’re my friend, and I don’t want you to come to any harm. I still can’t believe you came into a church to rescue me!”  
“You know, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever admitted I’m your friend.”  
“Well, you are. I might not be able to safely tell anyone in Heaven, but I can tell you, here.”  
Crowley didn’t often blush, but on this occasion he did. “Alright Angel, where’s this wine you promised me?”  
Aziraphale produced a bottle and two glasses, and they spent the rest of the evening enjoying each other’s company. If Crowley gazed at the angel from behind his glasses, who was to know?

~~~

**5\. London, 2012.**

_“Naaa naaa naaa nananana nananana Hey Jude…”_

It had been a long day. Four hours of Olympic Opening Ceremony with a four-year-old - plus the time it had taken them to get to the stadium, and their seats, and exit again afterwards - was perhaps not the brightest idea Nanny Ashtoreth had ever had. It had been worth it though, to have a day out with just Brother Francis and Warlock without Thaddeus or Harriet Dowling. The night had ended with Sir Paul McCartney leading the entire crowd in a rousing rendition of Hey Jude, and all three of them had joined in. Even the least precocious preschooler can sing along with the end of that song, and Warlock was a bright boy. Occasionally too bright, as is common among young children.

“Nanny?” Warlock asked, when they were in the Bentley on the way home.  
“Yes deary?” Nanny answered.  
“Why were looking at Brother Francis when you were singing?”  
“What do you mean, poppet?”  
“I know you love Brother Francis, but you see him all the time at home. Everybody else was looking at the stage, but you weren’t.”  
“What do you mean, I love Brother Francis?”  
“Well, you always tell me I should crush every living thing under my boots, EXCEPT for Brother Francis. You tell me I should be cruel to everyone I meet, EXCEPT Brother Francis. You tell me--”  
“I know what I tell you, Warlock, but that doesn’t mean--”  
“Yes it does, Nanny. It’s OK though, Brother Francis loves you too. Don’t you Brother Francis?”  
“I love all living things - as you should also.” Nanny Ashtoreth could see the blush on Brother Francis’s face as he said this, though Warlock couldn’t from his booster seat in the back. 

Warlock drifted off to sleep as they drove, and when he started to snore softly, Brother Francis turned to Nanny Ashtoreth.  
“Were you really looking at me, while you were singing?” he asked.  
“Yes,” she replied.  
“Ah.”  
“That’s it? Just ‘ah’?”  
“Is Warlock right?” he queried.  
“That’s a good question.”  
“Yes, it is.” Brother Francis gazed at Nanny Ashtoreth as she drove - and she gazed back far more than would be safe for the average driver. 

When they reached the Dowling residence Nanny took Warlock upstairs and put him to bed, then made herself comfortable in her rocking chair. She sat thinking about Brother Francis - and about two people with the same hearts, known as Crowley and Aziraphale - and how one day, they might be able to love each other openly, if only Armageddon could be prevented.

~~~

**+1. London, 2019.**

A week after the Armageddon-that-wasn’t, the face-swap, the hellfire and holy water, and “to the world!”. A week since finally confessing their feelings for one another. The most glorious week in 6 millennia had drawn to a close, and they were once again back at The Ritz. They arrived arm-in-arm. They sat a little closer than usual. They held hands across the table. And it didn’t go unnoticed. Most of the staff were far too professional to say anything, but they were all giving each other knowing smiles. As they paid the bill though, it slipped out. 

“FINALLY! AFTER ALL THIS TIME!”  
“Excuse me?” Crowley asked.  
“You two are finally a couple, aren’t you?”  
“Uh…” Crowley said, intelligently.  
“Yes, we are!” said Aziraphale proudly, squeezing Crowley’s hand.  
“We’ve been taking bets on when it would happen. Marie will be thrilled, she’s the closest guess. The way you are together - it’s been so obvious there’s a great depth of feeling there for such a long time - but it was just as obvious something was holding you back. That’s been resolved, I take it?”  
“It has at long last, yes!” Aziraphale said, clearly thrilled at having someone as excited about their new relationship as he was.  
“Stuffy old family members need to keep their mouths shut, if you ask me. How many couples have missed out on happiness because great-aunt Milred has a stick up her - oh, I do beg your pardon. My mouth has run away with me.”  
“It’s quite alright. Our proverbial great-aunt Milreds are indeed a pair of sticks in the mud, and we’ve told both sides what for. Thank you for a lovely meal, once again.” Aziraphale smiled broadly, and Crowley gave a little smirk of his own. He enjoyed seeing his angel so happy.  
“Oh, you’re very welcome! We hope to see you again soon!”  
“That you shall, my dear - I guarantee it!” promised Aziraphale, giving one of his contented little wiggles.

When they reached the Bentley, Crowley pressed Aziraphale up against it and kissed him.  
“I love you, Angel.”  
“I love you too, my dear. Shall we head home?”  
“Your place or mine?”  
“Surprise me!”  
Crowley kissed him again, and stepped back so that Aziraphale could walk around to the passenger side, then hopped in and started the engine. Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasted from the stereo, and he didn’t even mind. Love is a crazy thing, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Sir Paul McCartney's performance of [Hey Jude](https://youtu.be/azZZZbSwLQg) at the London 2012 Olympic Opening Ceremony.
> 
> The original [Beatles](https://youtu.be/A_MjCqQoLLA) version, which is just as long - because look how happy everybody is! (Especially Ringo, whose birthday I share.)


End file.
